


Moments in Paris

by smothermeinrelish



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, McLennon, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 15:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smothermeinrelish/pseuds/smothermeinrelish
Summary: During the week of John's 21st Birthday, the city of Paris holds the secrets of their future.





	Moments in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Paris is my favorite McLennon canon because what exactly happened?! We will never know, but I like to think soft moments and fluff ensued. Here is a brief one-shot I thought about doing this iconic week in the McLennon Fandom. I hope you enjoy!!

They were actually here, by the third day of being in the magnificent city, Paul stopped pinching himself and absorbed the truth that he was IN Paris with John Winston Lennon. When he was invited, Paul wondered why him? Why not Cynthia? Or that prat, Sutcliffe. Sure, he was his ‘Macca’ his best friend, he had told him many times, and Paul felt the same about John. 

Mutually they were as close as two friends could be, they shared everything, even birds sometimes after a gig. On those occasions, cautious eye contact would be made back and forth between them, giving a hint of wantonness to the act they were participating in. Egging each other on. Once, Paul swore he focused more on John giving it good to the brunette in the bunk next to him, rather than the blonde bouncing loudly on his lap. Was it a competition? Who got there first, which bird would wither in ecstasy at their efforts, his or Johns.

Since tagging along on this adventure with his best mate, there hadn’t been any of that. No friendly competition, no mention of birds at all really. On that day, they had found a few attractive lasses enjoying coffee at the same café as them near the West Bank. While Paul perked up and prepared to turn on the McCartney charm, John seemed aloof, absorbed in people watching and soaking in the sunshine as he picked at the remnants of crusty bread, and some grapes. “Oy Lennon, you broken or what?” nudging the shoulder of his friend. Breaking from his reverie, John spotted the girls in question. “Oh aye, fit girls them, should give them a pull.” His response was to say the least, unenthusiastic. “We don’t have to ya’ know, long journey, figured some relief was in order.” Paul himself was finding it less appealing the more he had to persuade. “Maybe later? I want to go up to that place Jurgen talked about.” Tossing a few Francs on the table, John took a swig of the cold, black coffee in his cup before he stood up to begin the next part of the day.

Montmartre, the artistic community of Paris. Vendors, booksellers and cafes packed the dirty streets. It was if they had stepped back into time, and were seeing what life in the seedy side of the city was about. John found an antique music shop right away. Having not brought their guitars, his fingers were itching to play. The cramped quarters of the dusty old shop leave little room to maneuver, and John jokingly brushes and bumps into Paul, emitting giggles and a grumble of French from the white-haired old man from behind the register. Keeping close, as to not knock any instrument off the wall, John arrives at a case and spots a pristine and shiny harmonica. Smaller than others, but a perfect size for your pocket with a higher octave range.

“I’d like this one ‘sil vous-plais’!” The reluctant merchant opened the case, and allowed John to select the silver mouth organ. “Duex Francs.” The little man replied, ready for these rowdy English boys to get out of the store. Paying for his Parisian souvenir, they left the store, John testing the lungs on his new toy.

It sounded good! Playing a few tunes while they strolled, John played to Paul, having him sing along as they made their way further into the artsy district. Deeper down an alley, the sky darkened, droplets of cold rain began to fall. The wind had picked up colder against their cheeks, not exactly sure where they had walked to, Paul looked to the sky searching for directional guidance. Tucking the harmonica into his leather jacket, John hooked his elbow with Paul. “What are ye’ thinking Macca? Have we gone lost?” “Not quite, here let’s go ‘round this way, I hear music.” Turning them down another narrow close, the sound of an accordion playing a traditional French tune drew them into a warmly lit café. Opening the door, several sets of eyes looked them over, before they hastily found a table in the corner, near a burning stove. The music soothing as they ordered a glass of red wine and waited for the impending rain to pass.

By the second glass of cheap wine, their bodies had warmed, and they were sitting side by side, smoking cigarettes like the rest of the eccentric crowd, it was obviously a local spot for aspiring poets and writers who sat drinking alone. What Paul began to notice about the café was that most of the clientele were men, who were sitting closely with other men. In the same capacity as John was leaned against him now. Adjusting to the warmth of John’s side, he found himself relaxing into the contact. Feeling a bit buzzed from the wine, he moved his arm to wrap around John’s shoulders, allowing John to settle in closer. A soft hum of approval was expelled from John. 

“Comfortable darling?” Paul teased him a bit, hearing an exasperated sigh. “I’ll say, what’s in that wine? It’s turning you soft Paulie.” “Just trying to keep up with the locals.” Nodding towards an obvious couple of young men about their age canoodling close in the opposite corner of the café. Sitting up with a start, the realization of their surroundings took John for a brief shock. Turning to Paul, he began, “You think they’re all queer?” “Well Johnny, I don’t see any females keeping them company.” Reaching out for John again, he pulled him closer, “C’mon, when in Rome, ya’ know. Besides, we know we like birds, no harm in touching to keep up the show.” His pink lips smiling up to John’s dark eyes with that damn charm and confidence he couldn’t resist. “Daft lad, you are.” Before Paul could tease him more, John kissed his cheek with a loud, wet smack.

After 2 more glasses, and several more moments of cuddles and touches (hamming it up) “Gotta make it look real, Macca.” John convinced him, as he touched his thigh possessively under the tiny table. The rain appeared to have stopped, and dusk was approaching. Deciding to make their way back to the tiny room they were renting, for a rest and wash before they went out properly for the night. 

Not making it halfway back, the sky let loose and the cold October rain let go down on the slightly drunk English boys. With several blocks still ahead of them, John grabbed hold of Paul’s wrist in the downpour and the two ran through the wet streets as fast as they could. When they arrived at the pathetic little room, they were soaked and shivering from the cold. 

Paul cranked up the radiator in an attempt to heat the room faster. John undressed from his drenched jeans, jacket and boots. Paul watched from the corner of his eye as the pale thighs of John’s legs snuck into the flannel pajama bottoms lying at the foot of the one bed they had been sharing. For some reason, that realization became glaringly obvious to him after their little ‘boyfriend’ game back at the café.

Following in John’s footsteps, Paul undressed, hunching over modestly to gather his own sleep bottoms and a dry shirt. Calling from under the duvet cover of the narrow bed, “Get over here Macca, it’s freezing.” Feeling on the brink of hypothermia, Paul wasted no time in climbing into the chilly sheets of the bed. Many nights of sleeping in the back of a freezing van, you appreciated body warmth of your mates to ward off death from freezing.

As he slipped in next to John, the areshole put his ice-cold feet against his back. “AGH, fuck, you prick, fuckin’ feet are freezing!!” “Warm me up Macca, you got those furry legs, must be good for something!” Play wrestling with the duvet and elbowing John in his ribs, he managed to get John on his side and proceeded to latch his arms around his mid-section, then tucked his legs around John. Face pressed between John’s shoulder blades, he hugged tight, waiting for the shivers racking his body to subside with the shared body heat. They both breathed in sync, Paul smelling that comforting smell of John, leather, smoke and peppery aftershave that Mimi bought him since he was sixteen. Holding a bit tighter, the two of them slowly drifted off into a deep sleep nestled under the covers while the rain pounded against the window outside.  
**************************

It was dark, only the light from the city shining into the room when Paul woke. The mess of auburn hair tickled his nose as he began to wake up next to the warm body pressed perfectly against his chest. For a brief moment, he forgot he was lying in bed in Paris. Smiling to himself, he hugged John a little tighter, here he was with the most important person in his life, in the most beautiful city in the world. John chose him, and Paul couldn’t be happier that although the band was the priority, here they were enjoying the city just the two of them. If that made him a little ‘queer’ for letting the romantic city get to him, then so be it. As they lied together Paul embracing him, he decided that there was nowhere in the world he would rather be right now. 

Getting bolder with his affection for the man in his arms, Paul leaned in again, deeply breathing that familiar scent. He opened his mouth to graze his lips softly over the tender skin of John’s neck and shoulder, an urge far greater than he had expected growing in his belly, unable to stop the affection he wanted to express. Shifting slightly, John’s half-asleep body pressed back into the soft touch, humming with approval to the sensation. Gently touching his wet lips over the light freckles of pale skin, Paul kissed trails up and down, so softly, John felt he was dreaming of the contact against him.

He was awake and alert of the contact on his body. The rough caress of stubble on his skin made him realize where he was and who he was with. This was Paul, holding him tight, fingers gripping his t-shirt fabric, trying to lift it higher for a touch of soft belly. Moving his own hand over the teasing fingers, he was aroused and wasn’t sure if this was what was supposed to happen, but it felt too good to stop. With a press of his hips against Paul’s pelvis, he felt it too. 

The arousal was mutual, as lips traced his neck, moving up to the plump lobe of his ear, John’s breath hitched loudly in his throat as the realization of what was happening hit him. This was Paul, the mate he’d harbored feelings for since the moment he saw his face at the fete years before. Paul, the skirt chasing lad who always got the girl. Paul, who was John’s everything, feeling his body, kissing his skin, and driving John wild with temptation. This couldn’t be happening, he was surely confused.

Adjusting to the press of their bodies, John arched into Paul further, just so he was aware of the masculine body he was groping under the warmth of the duvet. When a soft thrust to his backside showed him just how Paul was feeling about him, John was happy to give into the fantasy he had wanked off to hundreds of times in his own bedroom. This was the moment he had waited for, Paul was touching him, feeling him and it was making his head spin with elation.

Turning over to briefly halt the touches, Paul focused his eyes to the face he loved the familiarity of. Silence enveloped them as John’s hand moved in between them to trace the soft lips of Paul’s mouth, thumb caressing the round cheeks of his best mate. Hesitantly, Paul leaned in wanting to touch John’s mouth with his own. After all these years, now it seemed so perfectly obvious to him how right this was, how perfect they were. Meeting half way, John wasted no time in the action. When lips collided, it was as if the missing piece to their puzzled relationship clicked and ignited.

Tentative at first, firm pecks to their lips and corners of their mouths. Each of them holding their faces in their hands. In awe of how right it felt, how long it had taken for this moment to come. Needing more of that taste, the kissing grew deeper, evoking whimpers of sounds from the backs of their throats, until mouths opened wider and tongues tasted each other’s breath.

Paul’s arms wrapped tighter around John and soon their chests touched with the closeness. John pulled and lifted Paul’s thigh to drape over his hip to feel their mutual erections through the thin layers of fabric between them. Giving a gently thrust, John widened his mouth to delve in further, taking in the moan he elicited from Paul. Now this was really something, although fully clothed, John was certain he had never been more aroused in his life. Paul gripped his free hand on John’s jutting hip and ground his dick hard against John’s throbbing prick. Both moaned loudly in unison, as the friction was better than they ever imagined.

Continuing the sordid rhythm of their bodies under the blanket, they kissed with abandonment, soft words of devotion, ‘please love’ ‘oh darling yes’ ‘touch me Paul’ ‘feel me John’. They were making love and completely aware of the weight of their actions although clothing was still in place. 

The pace quickened, rolling over on top of John, Paul made his way between the firm thighs of John. Changing the angle had them both gasping at the pleasure filling them to the brim. Clutching at the muscular body on top of him, John spread his legs wider, needing to feel all of Paul against him, he kissed him deeply. “I’m close, luv.” Looking into each other’s eyes, like so many moments before, John and Paul came together. Clutching tightly to the body above him, John was blissed out beyond words, here they were in Paris, just having experienced a whole new level of intimacy with each other.

Letting their breathing regulate, they rolled over to face each other. Paul presenting more soft pecks of kisses to John’s flushed face, before he whispered “I love you John.” Not wavering from the confession, Paul’s features were more determined and sincerer than John had ever seen him. Placing a long, soft kiss to Paul’s lips, he pulled away, “I’ve loved you since the moment we met.” Smiling into each other’s mouths, several more kisses were exchanged. “I’m glad Paris is where we finally told each other.” Paul said with a soft sigh. “I’m glad you came with me, it was only you I ever wanted to bring, there was never anyone else. Never will be anyone else. Paris will always be ours, Macca.”


End file.
